


Gallery Narrations

by voxmyriad



Series: Gallery Narrations [1]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, From an unexpected source, Gen, Guest appearance by Pyro's bread monster pet, Heavy and Miss Pauling are both goobers, I ship Miss Pauling with everyone okay, If there's good art of it I am likely to ship it, Inspired by Art, Introspection, M/M, Merpauling, More pairings to be added as they are added, Multishipping Appreciation Life, Prompt me for more shenanigans, Rating May Change, Some mild musings on the nature of death, Sparrow Pauling, Trolling Team #1, Who knew Scout had it in him, Wingfic, Yanking the molars out of a box full of heads, headcanons abound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2170650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxmyriad/pseuds/voxmyriad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is far too much good art in this fandom. This will be a collection of ficlets (and maybe a few longer stories) inspired by amazing art! With links to the amazing art! Fanartists are wonderful people.</p><p>These definitely do not take place in the same universe. Mostly. Probably?</p><p>More fics will be added to the collection Gallery Narrations, as opposed to new chapters in this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dispatched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Dispatched" was inspired by [this beautiful thing](http://sfm-daesdemona.tumblr.com/post/74194934075/another-commission-a-remake-of-this-wonderful) by [daesdemona](http://tf2-daesdemona.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. I first spotted it on her [sfm commissions post](http://tf2-daesdemona.tumblr.com/post/95202726855/sfm-commissions) and then this happened.

Engie knew he wasn't imagining the look of open surprise on the RED Spy's face as BLU's Spy stepped up and neatly slit his throat. It pretty neatly matched his own expression. Neither Spy had even uncloaked all the way before the altercation was over. Engie stared at the RED Spy's knife, lying in the dirt next to the spreading pool of blood. BLU's Spy was methodically using a corner of the RED Spy's suit jacket to clean off his knife.

"Spy," he snapped. "You been here this whole damn _time?_ "

The Spy shrugged as he flipped the knife closed, stood, tucked it back inside his jacket. "I thought it would be prudent. You are welcome."

"That's not your job out here, you know that! How're we supposed to get past their sentries if you keep hangin' around here?"

"And if I had not, your own sentries would be in pieces and you would be waking up in Respawn right now."

"Dammit, not the point and you know it. Spy—" Engie paused and listened. He could hear the fighting, way on the other side of the forts. Sounded like almost everyone was over there, and this nest was pretty out of the way, set up to take out anyone sneaking around the side. The RED Spy's sprawled corpse was gone, picked up by Respawn already, but would he come back this way? It'd be soon, if he did.

Engie reached out a gloved hand and tugged the surprised Spy down into his lap in a tangle of limbs and a muttered curse at the loss of the cigarette he'd been in the process of lighting. "Thank you," he said with that little half-smile only his Spy got to see, "but you can't keep doing this, darlin'. It isn't fair to the rest."

"I do not like seeing you die." Spy pursed his lips and folded his arms. He would have called it 'objecting to this ridiculous line of thought.'

Engie would have called it pouting. "I don't much like dying, come to that, but Respawn's there to bring me back, you know that." He flexed the fingers of the Gunslinger and grinned, that slightly manic grin of anticipation. "Don't you worry about me, I have a few tricks left. He won't be trying that again today, I think."

He circled Spy's waist with his arms, squeezed, pecked his cheek, right on the border between fabric and skin. "Go on now. Get. Sap some sentries of your own, or Solly's gonna wonder what you did all day."

"I was guarding our assets," Spy said with far too much dignity as he got up, then jumped as Engie slapped his ass with his flesh-and-blood hand. An indignant sound slipped out and Engie grinned at the traces of a blush he could see.

"Uh huh. Be sure and make that argument when I'm not around, huh? Doubt I could keep a straight face for it." Whether or not that would be trouble for them was up for debate, almost every time they saw each other; Engie was pretty sure it was an open secret among the team by now, like Heavy and Medic was, but Spy, as Spies do, insisted they keep their rendezvous to themselves. Engie could see it was important to him and hadn't pushed yet, but this tendency of Spy's to linger around Engie and dispatch threats instead of sneaking into enemy territory and dispatching RED sentries would get them all into trouble eventually.

Spy huffed, puffing up like an offended pigeon, then leaned down and pushed Engie's helmet to the side just enough to kiss his temple. "If you get killed because you refused my help, Laborer, I will never forgive you," he said and shimmered into invisibility.

Engie watched the warped patch of air until it had disappeared among the rocks, then a few seconds more just to be certain, before he murmured, "Love you too, Spook."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen this ship called Napoleon Complex, does it have any other names? I heart TF2 ship names, they are truly The Best Quality :D


	2. Sad But Still Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In between waves, Scout gets introspective. He doesn't expect it either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](http://yhrite.tumblr.com/post/92049615016/between-waves) is just a really great piece of art by [yhrite](http://yhrite.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.

It was like camping, sort of. Scout's oldest brothers had gone camping a lot in the summers before school started again, almost every weekend, and they'd take their little brothers along sometimes, enough to learn the ropes: how to build a fire that wouldn't burn down the woods but could still cook hot dogs and s'mores, how to put up the tent right so it wouldn't fall down overnight, what to do about ticks and stuff like that. When his oldest brothers got too busy with jobs to keep going every weekend, the younger ones kept the tradition going until they got too busy. Scout had gone camping a lot as a kid. This wasn't really different.

If he ignored the penetrating smell of ozone, the faint hum that settled in his wisdom teeth, if he shut out the buzz and sizzle of the raindrops hitting the shield, it was like camping. Sort of.

Outside the faint red glow, he could see Pyro splashing happily through puddles. He wondered if the rubber suit was waterproof or if Pyro just didn't mind having water trapped inside it. Wouldn't that be cold? But Pyro didn't mind the cold, he remembered. Pyro went outside at Coldfront and built snowmen and made snow angels, and sometimes Scout went out too when Pyro came to find him (even though _he_ didn't like the cold, growing up in Boston meant being able to tolerate it, not having to _like_ it) just because Pyro wanted to have snowball fights and nobody could throw better than him. Last time they'd been at Barnblitz, the whole team had ended up outside, and then it turned out the other team had been having their own snowball fight in the courtyard outside BLU's base, so they'd just gone ahead and had a cross-faction snowball war, and that had been pretty fun actually. He had to give Pyro credit for that.

Pyro's mutant bread pet thing was safe and warm inside, curled up in a scarf next to Scout, as far from Medic as it could get. It might be asleep, but he wasn't sure. It was hard to tell. It didn't have eyes. Only fangs, and tumors. He wasn't even sure how it ran around, but it trotted after Pyro around the base like a devoted…well, bread monster. It was sorta cute, once you got used to it.

Medic's upturned medigun had been tweaked by Engineer to keep the shield going as long it wasn't moved, like Spy's Cloak and Dagger used to, and it sat in the middle of their little circle like a weird upgraded campfire. Scout wished it gave off a little more heat, but at least it was keeping out the rain. He wished he could steal the scarf back too, but the bread monster was (probably?) sleeping and Scout didn't want to wake it up and set it off snarling again, especially with Pyro outside. _He_ sure wasn't gonna get wet just for that.

Solly was giving off a decent amount of heat anyway. Scout wrapped his arms around his knees and tried to lean a little closer to the human furnace without _looking_ like he was trying to sneak a little extra warmth. Man, if he was between Soldier and Heavy he wouldn't have this problem at _all_. Too bad it was too late to switch spots. The grass was wet too.

Engie was playing something on his guitar, a song Scout didn't know, probably something sad but still good at the same time. Hardhat knew a lot of songs like that; Scout wasn't sure he'd ever heard him repeat one unless someone asked. Medic and Solly were talking, but they trailed off when Engie started singing. It was something about death, of course it was, death was all they did these days, pretty much all they could think about since the robots had started coming. They didn't know how long they had until the next wave—they never knew, not really—but somehow putting it into a song about asking Death to spare you over someone else made it easier to think about dying over and over. Made you wonder a little if dying for real would even be that bad.

Outside, the robots' stupid airship thing lurked in the distance. Scout watched Pyro watch a raindrop run over a black rubber glove and wondered a little. It'd be sad, yeah, but maybe still good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to [request](http://voxmyriad.tumblr.com/ask) on Tumblr a ficlet for an art. I can't promise great results but something might come of it?


	3. Whole New Perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't love wingfic? Clearly it is not me. I might even expand this universe, because wings. Inspired by [ninzja](http://ninzja.tumblr.com)'s art [found here](http://ninzjaspics.tumblr.com/post/71534275904/because-wings). Medic's face cracks me up.

This was a whole new perspective. His position was a little shaky—incredibly shaky, as he thrashed around in midair—but the view was unparalleled.

"That's it," he breathed, staring through the scope at the jumpy movements of the BLU Scout, the very last remnant of BLU for today. "He'll never see this one coming. Can't believe we never thought of this before…couldn't get me a little more steady, couldja, Doc?"

"When we get back to the ground," Medic grated out, arms slung beneath the Sniper's arms and holding tight as his spread wings beat hard at the air, "you are going on a _diet._ "

Sniper snorted. "No fear."

"You think—I am joking, but we will see wh—who is laughing later."

Sniper lifted his eye from the scope as Medic readjusted his grip, wings flaring. Full flight was rare among wing-bearing humans, let alone the ability to carry someone else, but before he could thank Medic for giving this a try, the Scout paused behind a rock to reload. "Brace y'self, Doc." The rifle shot cracked and echoed back from the surrounding rocks, chased by the dying scream of the Scout. As the recoil pushed them both back several feet in the air, Sniper's triumphant shout of laughter was cut off as he felt the rubber gloves slipping against the fabric of his shirt.

"Right, took the shot, shot's taken," he said quickly and swallowed against his stomach as he realized they were already plummeting back toward the sandy ground. The landing was far shakier than the hovering had been, sending a jolt of pain up both his legs. His hat was somewhere in the breeze, rifle miraculously still in one hand as he rolled to one aching knee and caught his breath.

"That was somethin' else," he said, then looked around as there was no curt answer. "Doc?" The first thing he saw was white feathers spread out across the dust, half of them bent painfully beneath sprawled limbs. "Medic? Hell," he swore as he set the rifle down against a rock and scuttled over. Knocked out? Head injury? Not dead, Respawn would've picked him up already. He found a pulse almost immediately in the throat, but it was weak and that breathing was much too shallow.

His fingers fumbled the top button of the lab coat open and tugged at the unyielding knot of the Medic's tie, cursing the air blue under his breath as he wrenched at the damn tight fabric. "What the bloody hell's the point of— _finally_." He yanked the tie free of the vest it was tucked into, loosed the top button of his shirt, sat back.

"Medic," he said. "Oi. Medic. Doc. Blink open those eyes, mate."

He was answered with a groan, then a stream of German he didn't have a hope of understanding, but he couldn't help the relieved smile when the Medic opened his eyes and squinted immediately against the bright sun. "Had me scared a minute," he said, shading the Medic's eyes with one hand.

"What happened? How did we get back down?"

"Usual way. Dropped like bloody rocks." Sniper shifted, wincing as the pain in his knee flared up. Luckily he'd be able to get that taken care of, but for now there was no moving, not until Medic was up to it. "Told you to brace, Doc."

" _You_ try bracing against a rifle kickback in midair next time, _Schweinhund,_ " Medic growled, pressing a hand against his eyes. "Well? Did you get him?"

Sniper's faltering smile grew again. "Yeah, I got him."

"Good." Medic fell silent for long enough that Sniper started to grow a bit worried. "Tomorrow. You. A diet. Doctor's orders."

Sniper scowled. "Didn't you lose your medical license?"

"You think a piece of paper tells me whether or not you are nearly too heavy to lift?"

"Oi! Some of that's my rifle, you know!"

"Stop yelling!"

" _You_ quit yelling!"

"будьте тихи," said Heavy as he emerged from the nearby shade of a building. "We won. Was looking for you, but now that I find you because of yelling, you both quit yelling now." With a delicacy that always surprised Sniper, he leaned down to scoop Medic up without effort, cautious with the crumpled wing that dangled almost to the ground. It looked painful.

"Is that, er, you gonna be all right, Doc?" he asked as he tagged along after Heavy.

" _Ja,_ of course," Medic said with his usual impatience, tempered this time only a little by pain that hitched his breath. "Do not fuss, I will get enough of that from this one. This is nothing a session beneath the medigun will not fix." He twisted enough to glare at Sniper over Heavy's shoulder. "I hope you enjoyed that, because I am _never_ doing it again."

Sniper huffed a laugh. "Fair enough. Bit unsteady for my taste anyway. Thanks for trying it."

" _Bitte._ Good shooting."

"Thanks."

They were almost to the base when Sniper caught sight of his hat, upside down in a ditch, and detoured, finding it and settling it on his head with a smile.

All in all, a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> будьте тихи = Be silent.


	4. Not So Weird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first request! From a Medic/Miss Pauling shipper anon. This one is a little different since it's a [three-panel piece](http://epicukulelesolo.tumblr.com/post/91974510350/medic-and-miss-pauling-having-blood-filled-fun) by [epicukulelesolo](http://epicukulelesolo.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, so I wrote it in three little pieces.
> 
> As always, this fic collection lives a multishipping appreciation life, just like the author.

Miss Pauling took pride in her work. She thought she had good reason to do so. She was fast, efficient, appropriately secretive, dutiful, focused. When she'd started at Mann Co. she could take shorthand dictation and type 120 WPM, and she remembered how everyone preferred their coffee. She knew there were some who would forget to take her seriously because she was also small, harmless-looking, and it suited her very well not to correct them until correction became necessary, at which point it would be both swift and memorable.

When the time had come to acquire a few more specialized skills that most personal assistants would never dream of needing, she had gone ahead and taught herself. She thought she had a solid and methodical routine for disposing of awkward evidence— _corpses,_ she whispered to herself—but most importantly of all, Miss Pauling never backed down from a challenge.

She wasn't entirely certain, after two celebratory Blu Streak beers, that the Medic's offhand comment about efficient body disposal had _been_ a challenge, but the warmth of the alcohol had mixed with the lingering adrenaline rush. She felt as though she could climb to the top of the world and conquer—efficiently, of course.

When she hopped off the table in the infirmary after the medigun had finished healing her broken leg, she discovered with an undignified yelp that the leftover pins and needles did not go away as quickly as the pain had. Medic had been more prepared for this and had caught her and set her neatly back on her feet. One bloody hand was already using Medic's white sleeve for support, he was already bloody and somewhat battered from the unexpected fight with the bread monster, so she felt only mildly concerned about the mess as her bloody finger left little round blood prints on his vest and tie as she countered with, "How fast can _you_ dissolve and dispose of a 230 pound corpse?"

"My record is 35 minutes," Medic said immediately, then grinned a warm proud little grin that had no right to do things to the pit of Miss Pauling's stomach. "But let's experiment, shall we?"

Oh, no. Almost certainly not. Experimenting. That was a terrible idea.

"I have some corpses outside," she heard herself answer. That had not sounded at all like a wise and prudent and strategic retreat.

* * *

"I have to admit," she said a few minutes later as she perched on a high stool and pulled on the gloves Medic had thoughtfully provided, "I didn't think I'd be spending my day off like this."

"Why, what would you normally be doing on a day off?" Medic asked absently as he poked through a drawer of wicked-looking forceps, searching for just the right set for her small, strong hands. Efficiency relied upon the proper tools, after all. "Aha!" He straightened with a triumphant smile, holding a pair of forceps that looked almost comically small in his gloved hand. He turned and presented them with a courtly bow. "For you, _Fräulein._ "

There was no reason at all to be blushing, she scolded her cheeks. That was certainly, absolutely, unarguably due to the alcohol. Never mind that she'd only had two beers an hour ago and their effects were long since finished. "Thank you," she said primly, accepting them and dragging over a decapitated head by the hair. "I don't go out much on my day off. Usually I cook something simple for dinner. Catch up on some reading. Write a letter to my mother." A letter full of lies about the details of her job. She wanted it to sound as boring as possible, for fear her mother would take an interest and come visit. The idea of her mother and Helen in the same room was enough to make her blanch and lose her grip on the tooth.

"That sounds remarkably like my evenings," Medic said thoughtfully. His sentence was punctuated by the _crack!_ of a tooth leaving a jaw. "Except for the cooking." He dropped the tooth neatly into the metal dish he had set between them to hold the teeth that would need separate disposal. She usually dissolved them, but she was on the base already, perhaps she should ask Pyro to incinerate them. They'd have fun with that.

"Or the letter-writing," he added, getting a grip on a second tooth. She knew those personal details about him already, had seen the full dossier on each of the mercenaries, but she still detoured quickly from that line of conversation. No need to make Medic relive it.

"How _is_ the food on these bases?" she asked, yanking at the head. "You all take turns cooking, don't you?"

It was the right thing to say. Immediately, Medic launched into a detailed account of the positives and negatives of each mercenary's cooking. Some were better at breakfast: Soldier excelled at making eggs to order, while Spy's breakfasts were always a mound of baked goods or pastries left on the table with Spy himself nowhere in sight, no matter how early anyone else got up. Some preferred making dinner. Sniper almost always had fresh game, collected the same day; he'd just take his rifle or his bow and walk into the desert right at the end of the day's fighting and come back an hour or so later, dragging something behind him. Sometimes two would pair up to make dinner, like Scout and Demo, one on vegetables and one on meats. Those experiments were not always so successful.

"But Pyro has the most astonishing range," he continued, "something new every time, and from so many different countries!"

Miss Pauling, who knew far more about Pyro than anyone on Pyro's team, just smiled and started humming to herself as Medic described the perfectly spiced paella, the handmade Japanese udon, the kabobs with tzatziki and tabbouleh. No one would believe her, even if she told them.

* * *

"Cockblockin' old geezer."

Medic was almost certain he had imagined the whisper, but why would he imagine something so inane? Miss Pauling was nearly finished with the teeth of her third head, out of seven—she might actually _win_ at this rate—and did not seem to have heard anything. Despite his lagging performance, Medic took a moment to glance over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Scout glaring daggers at him from behind a piece of equipment.

What was the matter with him? Had _Scout_ wanted a chance to yank molars? Medic half-turned, holding up the forceps, but with his typical speed Scout was gone from the infirmary before he could frame the question.

Miss Pauling grunted as a particularly stubborn tooth finally came loose. "Finished!" she said with a triumphant smile, adding the tooth to the little heap and tossing the head unerringly behind her into the bodybag to join the other four they had already finished. "You're falling behind," she added, then reached over to prod his arm. "Medic? Are you all right?"

"Hmm? Oh, _ja,_ fine."

"You don't look all that fine." There was a new edge in her voice and Medic turned back to see her staring into the dark corners of his infirmary with the forceps held as if she was ready to stab with them as soon as someone came hurtling at her. The sight was ludicrous and yet he had only just witnessed her ferocity a few hours ago. If anyone had been there, planning to attack her, he knew they would have been greatly surprised.

He couldn't help it, he started laughing, and then stopped at the uncertain expression on her face. "No, not you, _Fräulein,_ " he said hurriedly, still grinning. "It was only Scout, spying for some reason. But I almost wish there _was_ something out there. You would take them by such surprise! It would be a pleasure to watch."

She blushed again, startled and pleased, small and efficient and intriguing, and, "Will you have dinner with me?"

He blinked, wondering who had asked that, and realized it had been him. Now it was his turn to reach up and fiddle with glasses that did not need adjusting, something he had noticed her doing several times throughout the evening. "Er. If it would not, that is, I would not wish to interfere with your work—"

"You know, I think I would really like that." Miss Pauling looked down at the forceps in his hand, gripping a tooth and squeezing far too tightly in his surprise. "Um. You're going to—" The tooth shattered. "Wow," she breathed, staring at the fragments. "That, um. You're. Really strong."

" _Danke,_ " he said, entirely unable to think of anything else to say. "We have missed dinner already tonight."

"Oh! Oh, that's, that's fine. I'm sure we can come up with something." She fiddled with her forceps. "Or maybe another time? This was my only day off this year, but I'll be back up here on Friday. I have, um. An appointment. With Scout, actually." He noticed the way her grip got firmer on the forceps, again as if they were a weapon, and he wondered for the first time what he had missed while he and Engineer had been working on the tumors problem. "But it shouldn't take long, and after that I'm free for the rest of the day. So, maybe Friday?"

"Friday would be _wunderbar._ I will look forward to it. Now," he said briskly, tapping the broken tooth out of the head and into the bucket, "shall we finish here? There may still be time for you to write that letter to your mother and tell her all about your boring day, hmm?"

"Right, yes." Miss Pauling laid hold of the last head, then paused and glanced up. "Um. Thank you. For helping me with this. …It's probably weird that it means a lot, huh?"

Medic took her in—hair coming loose, tired, bruised, still determined after several hours to do the best job she could—and leaned against her shoulder. She leaned back. He smiled. " _Nein._ Not so weird."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to find me on [Tumblr](http://voxmyriad.tumblr.com) for shenanigans


	5. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Pauling needs her glasses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw [valoscope](http://valoscope.tumblr.com)'s amazing [art of Merpauling and Scout](http://valoscope.tumblr.com/post/100869336281/lost-and-found-by-valoscope) and I just. I had to. <3

"She needs her glasses."

Never mind that she’d been under the water for at least two minutes now. Never mind that the thrashing had dwindled to ripples on the surface and even those had gone, never mind that everyone was talking at him and trying to tell him shit, Scout needed to get Miss Pauling her glasses back.

"She can’t see without ‘em," he heard himself say as he kicked off his cleats, sent his headset clattering away with his hat. He sounded calmer than anyone, he thought. Medic was shouting now, Demo and Sniper trying to keep hold of his arms, Heavy blocking his way to the water, but fuck ‘em, they didn’t know, they didn’t _get_ that this was _important,_ this was Miss _Pauling_ down there. He knew what he’d seen. He knew she’d pulled away from him, fallen in, gone under and a few seconds later he’d seen a fin, fucking _huge,_ whatever was down there wasn’t any goldfish.

He watched himself kick viciously at one of the knees surrounding him, yank an arm free, land a wild punch and lunge for the gap. The grasping hands let go one by one and he was off the edge. He landed awkwardly, painfully, no grace in his sprawled limbs as he sank beneath the surface, but he’d pulled in a lot of breath before going under, he was good, he could do this. The hard plastic of Miss Pauling’s glasses was the only real thing as he swam down, beyond the easy reach of the sunbeams. He’d find her before his air ran out, sure he would.

She needed her glasses.


	6. You Should Take This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw [this art](http://nicca11y.tumblr.com/post/67456428840/you-should-take-this) by [nicca11y](http://nicca11y.tumblr.com) and then I immediately wrote a ficlet, because this is exactly what Spy would do. <3

She only feels it at first and it makes her jump, heavy wool settling invisibly over her shoulders, and the first thing she registers is how very warm it is.

"You should take this."

She can’t see him but she knows exactly where he is. She should be more unsettled that he’s right behind her. Then the cloaking field releases his jacket and blue pinstripes puff into view in a little cloud, but she doesn’t expect the flood of scents that come with it, cigarettes and cologne and gunpowder mingling with something beneath it all that’s uniquely Spy. She puts her hands up automatically to steady the jacket and feels very briefly the touch of his fingers before they’re gone, and he’s gone.

She is a woman of higher reasoning. She knows exactly what she’s doing at all times. It’s only the temperature change that’s making her go a little weak at the knees. When she slips her arms into the sleeves (they come down over her hands, and his shoulders are broader than she’d realized, but she can tell the coat would nip in at her waist if she buttoned it) it’s only because the cold makes that the more practical option. Even if the sleeves do come down over her hands.


	7. Fall Gently

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _or_ The Exquisite Tragedy of the Sparrow's Fall in Winter _or_ Heavy and Miss Pauling are Trolls of the Highest Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by crying over [Valoscope's](http://valoscope.tumblr.com) amazing [art](http://valoscope.tumblr.com/post/106260694541/fall-gently-by-valoscope-based-on-the-story-from) and trying to think of a happy ending for it ;_;
> 
> Heavy's Sad Childhood Story is from Poker Night at the Inventory, [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wgl7w2dETxQ) on Youtube.
> 
> Also this takes place in the same Wing Fortress universe as Chapter 3, I've decided.

"Holy shit."

"What happened?"

"She all right, Heavy? Someone get the Doc, Scout, you--"

"Hell no, I'm staying right here! Heavy, what the fu--"

"When I was a boy, I was at camp," Heavy began, not looking up from the crumpled purple body lying limp across his hands. She fit in his _hands_. "Being trained in many ways of combat."

"Get the Doc," Engie said to Sniper in an undertone, and Sniper nodded and unfolded himself and vanished.

"There was sparrow sitting on fence." Heavy's voice had a slow, rhythmic cadence, the poetry in it silencing even the last whispers of conversation.

They had often remarked on Miss Pauling's sparrow's wings, that they didn't seem big and strong enough to carry her, slight as she was, and they were always surprised when she fluttered from one side of the room to the other to save time. They seemed even smaller now, unfolded, bedraggled, trailing snow onto the concrete in little drips and drops. 

"Snow falls quietly around me." Heavy had not looked up from the unmoving bundle he cradled. "Without notice, another boy jumps from behind tree and kills sparrow with throwing knife!" Miss Pauling's face was turned away from them, pressed into Heavy's vest. "The boy runs away." Heavy let out a sigh as if burdened by the very weight of Siberian winter. "I pick up sparrow and hear his last breath, before digging him tiny grave."

The only sound was the soft whine of the wind outside, and the ruffling of Spy and Scout's feathers as they flattened their wings against their backs. Footsteps, two pairs, came toward the common room. Sniper reappeared first and slouched against the wall, eyes on Miss Pauling, and Medic followed with a frown. "Yes, what is--Miss Pauling? Heavy, what has _happened_?" Medic sounded stricken.

Heavy sighed again, the same sigh. "When I was a boy, I was at camp," he said, the same words, the same cadence. "Being trained in--" Miss Pauling's body shuddered a bit and was still again "--many ways of combat."

"Is she _laughing_? She's _laughing_."

"No. Is crumpled sparrow. Tragic demise in snow." Heavy shook his head, ignoring the increasingly loud giggles coming from his vest. Miss Pauling finally raised her head.

"You melodramatic goober," she said, sitting up and wincing. Medic was across the room in a moment, aided by a beat from his oversized wings, taking her pulse and scowling. "I'm fine, Medic, really. A gust of wind blew me into the wall. I got a little stunned, is all."

"And Heavy saw you lying there, a sparrow in the snow, and decided to make use of such a Russian moment," Spy said dryly. "I see."

"So you're _not_ dyin', right?"

"No, Scout, I'm not dying. I'm not even really injured."

Engie started laughing. "Gave us a scare, there, Miss Pauling."

"Sorry," she said with a little snicker. "I couldn't resist."

"Somehow I doubt that. Just glad you're all right, is all."

"That remains to be seen," Medic snapped as he extended one of her wings and she yelped. "As I thought. You have sprained it. We will need to put ice on it, and no flying for at least a week."

"A _week_?"

"We can make it two weeks," Medic threatened good-naturedly as he examined the other wing.

"Can we make it not a week?"

" _Nein_."

Scout, hovering impatiently, swooped in as soon as Medic got his stupid big wings out of the way, needing to see for himself that she was all right, and she glared over his wings at Medic. He could heal something like a wing-sprain in an hour if he wanted to. But she was going to lose any staring contest she started with that manic grin of his. "Fine. I guess I'm grounded. Serves me right, I suppose. ...I wish I could have seen their faces though." She looked up at Heavy. "Were they good?"

"Very good faces," Heavy agreed with a solemn nod. "Worth it."

"Yeah, it was."


End file.
